the old oak slab flung open.
“It’s about damn time!”
Braydon stepped back, caught off guard. He furrowed his brow at the woman standing before him. No one in Culpepper would believe she was anything but an outsider. Despite the heat and humidity, she was wrapped in a black pantsuit with a blazer that covered the length of her arms and a shirt that dipped low in a V. Although Braydon tried to keep his gaze up, he couldn’t help noticing the suit hugged her chest and hips in a very attractive way. Her skin was creamy porcelain, another sign that Florida was not her home. It stood out like a shock against the glossy dark hair that was pulled high in a bun. Although her eyes were a deep shade of sage, there was no denying the fire that sparked behind them.
“I’ve been waiting in here for almost half an hour!” she fumed.
Braydon put up his hands. “Whoa, calm down. Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get this all straightened out.” He moved around her, catching a whiff of perfume. It filled his senses with its sweet aroma.
The woman hesitated, as if unable to immediately obey, before she dropped down into the seat across from his desk.
“Now, Mrs....”
She waved her hand through the air. “Miss,” she corrected impatiently. “Sophia Hardwick.” The name sounded vaguely familiar but Braydon couldn’t quite place it. The red-lipped Sophia had scrambled his attention. “And like I told the man out there, I’m here about my sister.” She was gearing up to explain, her hands intertwining on the top of the desk. The way she leaned forward a fraction, didn’t improve the hold on his concentration.
Before she could start, Tom appeared in the door. His brow was furrowed. He didn’t bother with knocking.
“Braydon, we need to talk.” He tipped his head toward Sophia. “This will only take a minute, ma’am.”
Sophia slammed her hands onto the desk. She stood with such speed that Braydon mimicked the act, hand flitting to his holster.
“Are you serious? You just got in here. I’ve only had time to tell you my name for heaven’s sake! You will not put me off anymore,” she said, looking between the men. “I’m here because my sister is missing and I need you idiots to do something about it.” There was a pause as all of the air seemed to rush out of her. Color tinted her cheekbones, whether from the exertion or her makeup, Braydon didn’t know.
“I didn’t know Amanda had a sister,” he said, lowering his hand but still on guard. Sophia may have been petite but her passion was seeping out of every pore.
“What? Who’s Amanda?” she huffed. “I’m here about Lisa.” Braydon looked at Tom, who had turned white as a sheet. Something must have happened as soon as Tom had gone to his office.
He looked down at a paper in his hands. “Lisa? Does she happen to go by Trixie?”
Sophia shook her head. A few strands of hair came loose at the movement. Tom’s upbeat mood was gone—an issue that brought Braydon’s nerves back to the edge.
“No. She goes by Lisa. Lisa Hardwick.”
Tom’s mouth set in a deep frown. Without explanation to Sophia he turned to Braydon. “We need to talk,” he said. “Now.”
“Unbelievable! I just tell you that my sister is missing and you just—”
“Ma’am. We will be with you in a second,” Tom snapped. It was a rare occurrence to hear the shorter of the two men so tightly strung that Braydon didn’t hesitate. He followed Tom into the conference room two doors over.
“What was that about?”
Braydon didn’t know what answer to expect but it sure wasn’t what came next.
“Cal Green, you know him?”
Braydon nodded. “The mechanic?”
“Yeah, well he left a message a few minutes ago. He says his secretary, Trixie Martin, hasn’t shown up to work for two days. He got worried because she wasn’t answering her phone and headed to her place. All the lights were on, the TV, too, and the front door was unlocked. He talked to the nearest neighbor but they didn’t see or hear anything. Her car was even in the driveway.” He didn’t wait for Braydon to respond. “If that woman in your office is telling the truth, then that means—”
Braydon felt like he was waking up—all of his senses stood alert.
“That means that we have three missing women.”
* * *
SOPHIA WAS FED UP with all of the interruptions Culpepper had to offer. From the moment she had stepped foot inside the police station it had been a stream of one after the other—keeping her from asking whole questions, let alone getting full answers.
She had been bounced from officer to officer only to be told to keep quiet and wait for the lead detective to come in from a call. So, there she had stayed, sans the quiet. The four-hour trip had strung out her already thin patience as she left voice mail after voice mail on Lisa’s phone. It wasn’t her fault that the Culpepper PD wasn’t prepared for her volley of loud complaints.
Sophia smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in her slacks and tried to keep her temper in check as the minutes ticked by and the detective hadn’t returned. On a normal day she would have been more understanding, perhaps more patient. She knew that if she were back home in the city, the chances of her still waiting in the department’s lobby would be great. At least here she had been ushered into an office. Small blessings and silver linings.
Being alone was something Sophia had grown accustomed to throughout the past few years, but she found the lack of communication now was grinding into her anxiety. Lisa might fly by the seat of her pants 80 percent of the time, but she had never been so irresponsible as to leave without saying a word. Their relationship may have become strained lately, but it wasn’t that strained.
“Sorry to step out like that.” Detective Thatcher walked back into the office with a notebook under his arm. Instead of sitting behind the desk, he leaned on its corner and tilted his head down to meet her gaze. His eyes were the color of the sea—swirls of aquamarine. They were the kind of eyes that captured a person, making them want nothing more than to get lost within the bright pools. Sophia hadn’t noticed their allure until he was so close.
He had a swimmer’s build—tall, lean, but with muscles that peeked through his clothes. His shirt was pulled taut over broad shoulders, while his sun-kissed skin was a rich bronze—a shade she hadn’t been able to achieve in the muck of Atlanta. In contrast to his partner’s thinning blond hair, Thatcher had a mass of dark brown locks that were mussed to mimic what she thought would be his bed hair.
Sophia realized she had been staring. She needed to pull it together for Lisa. She cleared her throat and pushed her back straight.
“Now, if you would start from the beginning,” he prompted. His long, and ringless, fingers wrapped around the pen. He wrote with controlled precision as she spoke.
“My birthday was four days ago, on Sunday,” Sophia started.
“Happy belated birthday, then.”
She waved her hand dismissively but said
